Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) (5 page)

“That was unfortunate.” Garrison tossed the empty syringe onto the table and jerked down the lapel of his blazer.

“That wasn’t necessary!” Isaiah tried to keep the bite from his tone, tried to keep himself collected, but the raw rage of seeing Amalie handled so brutally threatened to consume him. He wanted to smash his fist into something.

Garrison whirled on him, eyes alight with fury. “Yes, it was!” He stalked past Isaiah back to his seat, but didn’t sit. “It was necessary! I can’t let her get out of control like that. I can’t let her get to that point. I have to always be ready to pull her back when it looks like it’s going too far. I know it looks—”

“Barbaric!” Isaiah hissed.

Garrison nodded, shrugged. “All right, perhaps, but I am willing to do whatever it takes to get that disease out of her head!”

“She was only asking you to wait!” Dishes rattled, glasses tipped, spilling water over white linen when Isaiah beat a fist against the table. “Why couldn’t you just wait?”

“Because there was no reason to wait. She wasn’t under attack. She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t being asked. I gave an order. It was time for her to rest. She refused. She rebelled. I can’t allow that! It’s for her own good!”

Isaiah spun away from the man he considered a father. He shoved both hands through his hair, fisted, tugged until it hurt. “It wasn’t right.”

It took all his willpower not to jerk, not to slap the hand away when it rested lightly on his shoulder. “I know you worry about her, but Amalie can’t be trusted around people. She’s not stable, Isaiah. She’s sick. I’m trying to help her. She’s been making progress because of everything I do daily to fix her. I need you to understand this. I need your support! If you care about her,” Garrison added when Isaiah remained quiet for too long. “Will you help me?”

But what if he didn’t care about her? What if he loved her? What if he was completely and hopelessly and desperately in love with her? Where did that put him then?

He turned to Garrison. “I’ll help, but,” he added when Garrison beamed, “I want to be able to see her.”

The smile vanished. “What?”

It was a thin sheet of ice he was treading, but he pushed on carefully. “She knows me. We used to be friends. I think it would be good for her to see a familiar face.”

It was a leap, a stretch. Amalie hadn’t looked the least bit happy to see him, but that was nothing to do with her and everything to do with him.

Garrison hesitated, then said, “You can’t be friends again, Isaiah. I’ve already told you that before. She can’t have friends. She’s not ready.”

“I don’t mean to be her friend.” It wasn’t a complete lie. “I just think if she associated with someone she felt comfortable with she might relax and take better to her treatments.”

Skin puckered between Garrison’s eyebrows. His lips pursed in deliberation and Isaiah felt a stab of premature triumph.

“That’s an interesting theory,” he mused, long fingers reaching up to tap lightly on his chin. “I’ll give it some consideration.” His smile returned. He smacked Isaiah in the shoulder. “Maybe you’d do better in the medical profession.”

Isaiah said nothing, but offered a small smile.

***

What on God’s green earth possessed him to make such an offer? On what rational plain did his decision solve anything? He swore to himself he would keep away from her. He swore he would never do this to her again. What was he thinking?

He won’t go through with it
. Garrison was nothing if not a logical, rational man. He would see how wrong this theory was and refuse it.

“Ugh!” With a frustrated snarl, he thrust his hand through his hair. He slammed his free hand into the corridor wall and slumped in with it until his brow rested against the fist. His eyes closed.

Stupid! He was so stupid!

Garrison

Garrison studied the serene face of his wife, traced the elegant curves of her sharp cheekbones, pointy chin and the way her lips resembled a small heart, even when she smiled. In the picture, her dark hair was swept back in a shiny, coiffed knot at the top of her head. A large lily clipped the left side, just over her ear. Abigail had always loved lilies. Before Amalie was born, she would spend hours in the gardens, elbow deep in dirt, smelling of overturned soil, sunshine, sweat and grass. She always had dirt under her nails, twigs in her hair and mud smearing her clothes, but she would be smiling as if every moment was a sip of sunlight and she couldn’t get enough. After her death, Garrison had the gardens torn out, replaced by slabs of winding concrete, marble fountains and ivory statues. Nothing of Abigail’s gardens remained. He had made sure of that. The only reminder of her now was the daughter she’d left behind and the picture.

He considered removing the picture from his desk. It was the only existing image of his wife. He’d made certain of that and so many times he started to toss it away, but she was a reminder now, a reminder that he couldn’t afford to be weak, that he couldn’t allow himself be blindsided again. If she had come to him sooner with her sickness, had given herself to his capable hands, had let him cure her…well, there was, no use rehashing unnecessary memories now. She was dead and he was not and he was wiser.

“You did this,” he told the glossy frame. “You left me no choice.”

Abigail just smiled from behind her glass prison, frozen forever as the woman he had fallen in love with, married and had a daughter with. Frozen in the lie.

Selfish. That’s what she was. How could she expect him to ever forgive her for the betrayal, for the unjustifiable audacity? He had given her everything, a beautiful home with no expense spared, love, attention, a daughter he hadn’t wanted. But she had asked and he, ever the obliging husband, had indulged her. Then she went and left him with a defective child.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

He loved Amalie. Lord knew he did, but she made it nearly impossible to do so. There were times he was certain she was deliberately being difficult to frustrate him.

No. He couldn’t think like that. She didn’t mean it. She was sick. It wasn’t her fault. It was Abigail’s fault. Amalie was in this situation because of her. He couldn’t blame Amalie for that.

“Are you happy with yourself for what you’ve done?” He sneered at the picture. “I hope you’re rotting wherever you are!”

With a disgusted flick of his wrist, he slapped the frame face down. The glass hit the desk with a crunch under his abuse and he knew he would need another frame, or maybe this time, he would finally just dispose of the thing and be done with it. Maybe.

For now, he was dropping a stack of folders on top, tucking it out of sight, and composed himself. It wouldn’t do to get worked up over
that
when he had his share of more important matters to deal with in the form of a pimply-faced, nasally weasel named Mortimer Hobbs.

Just the thought of his name had Garrison’s blood bubbling. His fingers curled into fists on the polished surface of his desk. The veins blistered along the back of his hand to the white caps of his knuckles. His jaw creaked under the force of his gritted teeth.

He would see soon enough what happened to little rats who questioned things beyond their comprehension. Garrison had powers that went beyond those of a pathetic fool. His breakthrough in genetics modifications was going to revolutionize the next stage in human evolution. His work would live on forever. And Mortimer Hobbs would be nothing more than an insignificant blip in the scheme of things.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t let that little worm spill his poison into the ears of the board or the university. Garrison couldn’t let him destroy everything he’d worked his entire life to accomplish. It only took a single seed of doubt to take root and he’d be finished.

Not if I finish him first!
He thought heatedly. Mortimer Hobbs had voiced his last concern as far as Garrison was concerned.

No sooner had he smoothed a calming hand through his hair and down the front of his eggshell-white suit when a soft knock interrupted his thoughts. He straightened in his swiveling chair.

“Come in!”

The doorknob rattled. It turned. The door opened and Isaiah poked his head in. “You asked to see me, sir?”

Garrison smiled, motioning him inside. “Yes! Come in!”

Quietly, Isaiah slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. He padded across the antique rug to stop behind the twin seats facing the desk.

A genuine surge of affection rose through Garrison as he took the boy in, a boy he’d raised and molded to be the man standing before him. His greatest creation! Without him, Isaiah would have been just another statistic, another name on a dusty, abandoned folder, just another child coaxed back to his lab for examination. No one ever cared about the wild-eyed children on the streets. No one ever cared when one or two went missing. But Garrison had seen worth in those eight year old eyes. Isaiah had come a long way since they first met in the dirty alley downtown Vancouver. He was no longer the filthy, starved gutter rat Garrison had caught trying to pick his pockets for the handful of coins there. He was no longer savage and angry. Garrison had seen to that. He had made sure the boy was brought home, fed, clothed and cared for. He took the boy under his wing, put him through the best schools, to defend himself…better himself. Not a penny was spared. It was because of Garrison that Isaiah was given the opportunity to grow into such a handsome,
loyal
young man.

It was far more than any of the other children Garrison took in got. The other children were expendable. They were disappointing.

“Yes, sir?”

Garrison waved for him to sit. “How are you this morning, Isaiah?”

Carefully, Isaiah lowered himself into the emerald-green leather. “All right, sir.”

“No more thoughts about the previous night?”

Isaiah hesitated as Garrison knew he would, had almost expected him to. The boy may want to be a solider, but he wore his emotions on his sleeve like a shield. His anger practically leapt off him in waves.

“You still don’t believe I handled the situation properly,” he answered for him.

Isaiah dropped his gaze, but his knuckles went white around the armrests. “Not my place to judge, sir.”

Garrison clicked his tongue. “Now I’m offended you would think like that, Isaiah. Haven’t you always been a son to me?”

He wasn’t quick enough to conceal his wince. “Yes, sir.”

“Then please show me the courtesy of being honest.”

The wood creaked under Isaiah as he adjusted his weight. He raised his eyes and Garrison was struck by the fire behind the accusation in them. “No, sir, I don’t believe you did.”

His own chair groaned as Garrison sat back. He rested his elbows on his armrests and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “And how would you have handled the situation?”

He faltered and Garrison smothered his triumph. “I wouldn’t have been so rough with her.”

Garrison cocked his head to the left. His eyes narrowed. “I understand you once considered her your friend, but when she gets to that point, you can’t let your emotions get the better of you. You need to do what you have to in order to keep her from hurting herself or others. I did what I had to.”

“She was scared,” Isaiah murmured. “I’ve never seen her like that.”

Garrison sighed, rubbing the tips of his fingers over his brow, grinding the slight pinch at his temples. “Things aren’t what they used to be, Isaiah. What you saw were the side effects of what transpired last year.”

Isaiah shifted again. “Side effects, sir?”

He nodded. “She went into a deep depression, wouldn’t eat or sleep, hardly even spoke. It was around the time you went back to school last fall, but it wasn’t her normal reaction to your departure.”

“Sir?”

“Well, she would always get upset when you left, which was understandable. You were the only child she knew her age and I think she became a little infatuated with you, but this was different. She became withdrawn, started talking to herself, saying odd things…” He shook his head. “I think she started hurting herself. During one of her examinations, I noticed bruises. She refused to tell me the cause. I had to remove everything from her room that may cause potential harm. I was going to take her to the lab, find her a safe place there, but then I changed her medication and she seemed to level out, became calmer. Granted, she still has her moments like last night, but I think we’re making progress. Isaiah?”